Wednesday, November 17, 2010

I work with my dad. Well, I work. He comes in and hangs out. Yesterday, he called me into his office because he wanted me to see Ice Road Truckers. The truckers were in the Himalayas I think. Crazy ass shit. Great show. Anyway, the old man loves having my secretary help him with his computer problems, which he seems to have quite a bit of for a guy who uses a computer to access his AOL email and check his stocks.

Monday, November 08, 2010

Roger Waters has been touring the country, playing The Wall, in its entirety. I contacted a friend with connections and asked if I could get tickets for myself, my wife and, if possible, two more for friends. The show was on November 6th and I had been on the list for over a month.

This past Tuesday he told me I was on a very long wait list and, odds were, I wasn't going. Friday after noon, my wife made plans for the 6th (Saturday) with another couple.

At midnight, the email comes thru - two tickets for tomorrow. House seats.

At first, I was thrilled. My wife and I were going to see an incredible show. I've heard that it's life altering, incredible, insane etc. I contacted my friend and told him we were so excited. His response:

Monday, November 01, 2010

As is always the case, I wound up donning a costume of sorts to give the kids an extra halloween thrill and, of course, to allow myself the fun of the holiday as well.

In the past I've done all kinds of things. Pig nose and wings last year in honor of the Swine Flu (swing flew get it?), Bloody nail thru the head the year before that. Always something a little fun, a little odd. This year, with the kids getting older and the masks and whatnot no longer scaring them, I decided to go with something a bit more nasty. I slashed my throat.

My wife was with my daughter and her friend, getting manicures so, while the boy watched some tv, I locked myself in the bathroom with a fake wound, spirit gum and stage blood. I applied the wound across the neck, added copious amounts of blood to my neck and shirt and staggered into the living room telling my son I cut myself shaving.

This is how I looked:

My son looked up at me and gagged before telling me I looked gross and he didn't like it. He then asked if it was real. I told him it was not and he laughed and asked if I was going to wear it to soccer practice. I said I was.

So, we packed up our stuff and headed to the nail salon to pick up my daughter and her friend. On the one block walk, not a single person smiled, laughed, pointed, grimaced or blinked.

We walked into the salon and wandered to the back, where my daughter and her friend were drying their nails and my wife was getting her toes done. My wife looked up and said we needed a couple more minutes so the girls' nails would be fully dried. Not a word about the blood on my shirt, the slash across my throat. Then the woman painting her toes looked up. And screamed. Everyone in the salon looked at me. There were gasps, and laughs and my daughter looked up and told me it was disgusting and she loved it.

We packed up the kids and went out on the street. Two blocks walked to get a cab. Nary a nod or a smile at the slashed throat.

We got out of the cab by a hospital which is across the street from the entrance to the park. Nobody noticed.

At the soccer game, a few of the kids said something but, until they did, not a word from the parents or coaches. So sad.

After soccer, I took the kids home so they could get their costumes on and I ran out to grab some lunch for them. 4 blocks walked to a bagel store. Nobody noticed.

Went to a drug store to get a few things.

Nobody noticed.

What the hell is wrong with people? Are we all that cold, that detached from our surroundings, that we fail to notice a man with his throat cut?

Walking back to my apartment a small group of tourists notice me, laugh and ask if I will take a picture. Of them, not with them.

Head to the halloween party and, finally, a local adult notices the blood and gore. Have my picture taken a few times. Do the trick or treat thing with the kids and get a comment or two from the folks wandering the buildings, seeking treats with their kids.

After dropping the kids back off at the apartment with my wife, I head back out for pizza for the kids. In the pizzeria, the guy behind the counter asks what I'm having, doesn't register the blood and gore. As I'm paying, a japanese woman in front of me bumps into me, turns to apologize and screams. Upon seeing that I am, in fact, not dying, she turns to her companion and shakes him, pointing at me. They both say something in japanese, smiling and laughing and walk away.

On the walk back, again, nobody notices.

What's wrong with my city? Are we so afraid to look at people? Are we so accustomed to death and gore that, even if we do see someone, we don't register it? Are ﻿we afraid that, if we say something to a stranger, they might take it the wrong way?

I need to move. Find a place where people care. Where someone will notice a guy when he slashes his throat.